


The Other Side

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-27
Updated: 2000-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: When real life gets too much Vecchio and Kowalski both need some time out on the other side.





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Other Side

 

 

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans.  
The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the  
creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio and Kowalski belong to Alliance.  
No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other  
copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published  
for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to  
be reproduced for profit.  
  
Rated PG m/m m/f and a few swear words Kowalski/Vecchio  
  
Comments welcome at  
  
The Other Side  
  
by Carol Trendall  
  
 _Turn me on take me for a hard ride_  
Burn me out leave me on the other side - Red Hot Chili Peppers  
  
  
  
Maria Cicciari groaned, dug her nails into her lover's back and spread  
her legs further, not caring that on a winter Wednesday afternoon she  
was having sex under her father's roof, out of wedlock and probably in  
earshot of the great man himself. For an Italian man, a Mafia Don, Ignazio  
Cicciari was suprisingly liberal-minded. But Maria, like everyone, knew  
there was more to it than that. She knew it was in her father's interest  
for her relationship with Armando Langostini to be successful and she  
never fooled herself otherwise. It was Maria's brother, Marco, who seemed  
less than happy with the match.  
  
  
Armando Langostini grunted as he pounded into the willing flesh of the  
woman underneath him. He wasn't in love with Maria Cicciari and he knew  
she knew it, but it never stopped either of them. When they did this  
it was not about everlasting love, it was about something more primal,  
something they both needed. It helped that they shared respect as well  
as desire for each other so that they were able to maintain the facade  
that kept two Mafia families at peace while gaining a little pleasure  
for themselves.  
  
It didn't take long before Armando's orgasm overtook him and he came  
long and hard, shouting out his pleasure, for a moment oblivious to Maria's  
rapturous cries. It was only when she poked his shoulder with a scarlet  
fingernail, nudging him off her, that he roused. Smiling happily, he  
slipped onto his back and cradled her against his chest.  
  
"Mmm," he hummed, nuzzling at Maria's hair.  
  
"My god, Armando, that was incredible. I've never seen you like  
that before."  
  
He grinned and sneaked a playful sidelong glance at her. "I guess  
you just turned me on."  
  
Maria leaned up on one elbow and contemplated the face of the man who  
had just so royally fucked her into the greatest state of bliss she had  
felt in a long time. She knew he lied.  
  
"You're so full of it," she teased him good-naturedly. "You  
and I both know that what just happened had nothing to do with me."  
Leaning down, she kissed his soft lips tenderly. "But that's OK."  
It was always OK.  
  
"Ah, Maria, you know me too well." Armando smiled, his heart  
suddenly filled with tenderness for this woman who was little more than  
a pawn in her father's dangerous games. He pulled her down and kissed  
her again, knowing that although she knew him well, she did not know  
everything about him. She could never know everything about him for  
it would be fatal - for both of them.  
  
Maria could never know that his real name was Raymondo Vecchio and she  
could never know that the lust singing in his veins was not because of  
her, but because of her brother Marco Cicciari. It was always because  
of Marco.  
  
  
  
Stella Kowalski shuddered under the warm lips that skimmed down her throat  
and along her collarbone. She missed this, she longed for this �  
she longed for him. But she wished she didn't. She wished she could  
leave and never want for him again. She wished she could rid herself  
of the hold he had on her, rid herself of the desire that she turned  
into anger to protect herself.  
  
Ray Kowalski slipped his hands to the small of his beautiful ex-wife's  
back as he nibbled her collarbone. It had been so long and this was  
like a dream come true. He wished they could do this forever, wished  
that she would stay forever. He missed this � he missed her.  
  
Stella sighed and shifted her hands to Ray's heaving chest, preparing  
to do what she knew she must � what she didn't want to. But she  
had to. She could not give into her desire; she could not let him back  
in. She took a deep breath and pushed.  
  
"What....?" Ray cried as he found himself hurtling across the  
room.  
  
"I....I can't, Ray.....we have to stop." She smoothed her  
skirt, keeping her eyes averted.  
  
Ray adjusted himself in his trousers and glared at her, stepping closer.  
"What?"  
  
"We're divorced, Ray," Stella said matter-of-factly as she  
turned and reached for her purse.  
  
Ray hesitated for a second, momentarily thrown by her tone before exploding  
in anger.  
  
"Oh yeah," he cried, turning away and throwing his hands in  
the air. "Like that explains everything." He strode across  
the room and slammed his hand down on the kitchen counter. "Like  
it explains how five minutes ago you had your hand down my pants and  
now you're lookin' at me like you caught me porking your prize poodle,  
Pookie."  
  
When he turned to look at her again he caught her open-mouthed stare  
before a mask of indifference snapped into place.  
  
Stella regarded her ex-husband with a cool, discriminating eye. "You  
always did have a way with words, Ray," she spat at him, all trace  
of her previous warmth gone. "That's exactly why we're divorced  
and that's exactly why I'm leaving now."  
  
"Ah, come on, Stella...." His words stopped as she pushed  
past him and opened the front door.  
  
Pausing in the doorway she turned to him, a cold look hardening her face.  
"Sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in you." And before the  
words could register with Ray, she slammed the door behind her.  
  
  
Ray Vecchio dressed slowly in the late afternoon sun, smiling at the  
woman with whom he had just passed several pleasant hours. She was a  
beauty, he knew, but not the one to capture his heart. Maybe there never  
would be anyone. For a moment his thoughts turned inward, pondering  
the lie his life had become. Sadly, he realised, his life had been a  
lie long before he became Armando Langostini.  
  
"A dollar for your thoughts," Maria said, leaning up one her  
elbow, the sheet barely covering her shapely body.  
  
Ray zipped his pants and reached for his shoes. "A dollar?"  
He cast a cheeky glance her way. "What makes you think they're  
worth a dollar?"  
  
She laughed, deep and sexy. "You undervalue yourself, Armando..."  
Swinging legs over the side of the bed she strode naked towards him.  
"I happen to know you are a man of great...value." She smiled  
seductively as she lifted a hand to cup his genitals, now encased in  
expensive layers of Calvin Klein cotton and Armani wool.  
  
Ray chuckled and kissed her cheek tenderly. "You flatter me, Maria."  
He stepped away, smiling with true warmth. "But I am also a man  
in danger of being late for a meeting your father set up." He headed  
to the door, no longer a lover, now a smooth Mafia businessman. "I  
have to go, Marco will be waiting...." His voice trailed off as  
he realised his haste to get downstairs and meet his lover's brother.  
  
If Maria noticed, she said nothing. Grinning lewdly, she lifted a hand  
to leisurely cup her breast and then stroke a nipple to hardness. "Perhaps  
you can come back later......?"  
  
Ray did not reply. He smiled his best Armando smile, opened the door  
and stepped into the corridor, suddenly very anxious to be on his way.  
  
  
Stanley Raymond Kowalski stared at the door that still reverberated from  
where Stella had slammed it behind her only a second or two earlier.  
Huffing out a sound that was a mixture of anger and disappointment, he  
shook his head and turned back towards the living room where less than  
a minute earlier, he had kissed Stella and held hopes of making love  
to her.  
  
"Why the fuck does she always do this?" he asked the empty  
room that still smelled faintly of her perfume.  
  
Ray flopped listlessly onto the sofa, reached absently for the remote  
control, flicked through a few channels then tossed it aside, irritated.  
His mind was full of his ex-wife. The last few times he had seen her  
were almost exactly like this, he realised, with a degree of anger.   
Stella would drop by, just to say hi, she always said. They would share  
a beer, maybe get a bite to eat. She would let him get closer, let him  
hold her hand, let him kiss her. After some slow and careful moves,  
they would end up making out on the couch � sometimes clothes would  
be shed. But always, just when things got interesting, she would up  
and leave. It frustrated him. He wondered if she took some perverse  
pleasure in arousing him and leaving him high and dry.  
  
The frustration was about more than sex, he admitted. It was about control.  
With Stella, Ray felt he almost begged for every little sign of affection,  
every nice gesture or kind word she sent his way. He almost felt like  
he was begging every time he saw her. Not just begging for physical  
contact, but begging for approval, acceptance � and maybe for the  
sex, too. He kicked at the coffee table, the anger in his belly beginning  
to grow.  
  
"This is no way to live," he growled into the silence. "I  
gotta do something."  
  
Ray knew he needed to get some control back in his life. He needed to  
feel like he still had some power. He needed to feel like a man.  
  
  
It was nearly midnight by the time the meeting of Mafia bosses ended.  
Ray and Marco were silent as they sat in the back of the black limousine  
taking them back to the Cicciari residence, both enjoying the satisfaction  
of a job well done. Ray kept his eyes trained on the lights of the city  
as they passed and tried not to feel the heat from the man sitting next  
to him.  
  
Marco had watched him all night, his dark, flashing eyes raking over  
Ray's body every time they were close. Ray kept his eyes averted, but  
he was only too aware of the heat in the other man's gaze. He called  
upon long unused skills to stop himself from responding.  
  
Some people in the Family knew that Marco was gay, even if the great  
Ignazio Cicciari didn't. The FBI briefing notes Ray received had mentioned  
nothing of any attraction Marco Cicciari may have felt for Armando Langostini,  
but to his trained detective's eye it was obvious. And that made it  
doubly frustrating. Under other circumstances he would have welcomed  
Marco's unnerving attention, but in his role as a Family member, as Armando  
Langostini, it could not be.  
  
Armando Langostini had been a womaniser and a lover of great repute and  
the sheer number of Mafia women who had come to him to rekindle past  
intimacies were testimony to it. There would be no accepting of the  
offer that Armando knew was in Marco's dark eyes. No matter how much  
Ray Vecchio wanted it.  
  
Thankfully Ray was skilled at obfuscation. And it wasn't only from years  
of working as a Detective First Grade. Ray learned these skills a much  
harder way. After years of constant companionship with Benton Fraser,  
Ray was a master of deceit. He had successfully hidden his attraction  
for the Mountie for a long, long time. It took years, but eventually  
he reached a point where he could spend time in close proximity with  
Fraser and not have to hide a raging erection or racing heart.  
  
Now it was Marco who made his heart leap and his blood pound with desire.  
Ray chuckled. Maybe he would accept Maria's offer to come back after  
the meeting. He could do worse.  
  
  
The pizza was tasteless, the beer was warm and everything on television  
was crap. At least that's how it appeared to Ray Kowalski as he flopped  
from one restless position to another on his suddenly uncomfortable sofa.  
And he was still angry with Stella.  
  
"What is it with women?" he asked out loud, flicking the television  
off and tossing the remote onto the coffee table. He rose to his feet  
and shuffled into the kitchen for another beer, angrily twisting off  
the top and throwing it into the sink.  
  
"Fucking ballbreakers," he cursed, then threw back his head  
and drank down half the contents of the bottle.  
  
Something urgent and primal stirred deep in Ray's being. He swallowed  
the rest of the beer, tossed the bottle into the trash and strode purposefully  
towards his bedroom. A predatory smiled curled at his lips. There was  
only one thing to do.  
  
When he emerged ten minutes later, dressed in tight denim, he was a man  
in control, a man with a mission. He knew what he needed and exactly  
where to get it. The other side.  
  
  
Armando lingered in the hall outside Maria's room. Half of him wanted  
to knock, to go inside and to be welcomed into her arms. But the other  
half knew that this member of the Cicciari household would never be able  
to give him what he wanted. What he wanted � needed � could  
not be found on the other side of the heavy wooden door he now contemplated.  
What Ray Vecchio needed could only be had on the other side of town and  
only in one sort of place, the likes of which, he was sure, would be  
well known to Marco Cicciari.  
  
Something primal and urgent stirred in Ray, lighting a fire in his belly  
and causing him to dash towards his own room. It would be a risk, but  
it was one he was prepared to take. The brooding gaze of Marco earlier  
that night had awakened a hunger in him that he had not felt since he  
first met Benton Fraser. This time it was a hunger he would not, could  
not ignore. He knew exactly what he would do.  
  
When he emerged from his room ten minutes later, clad in black from head  
to toe, he was a man set to satisfy his hunger. He was a man with a  
mission. But he had to make sure he went someplace there was no danger  
of being recognised. Somewhere his choices could not be used against  
him, somewhere on the other side of town.  
  
  
  
The rhythmic throb of dance music filled Ray Kowalski's chest as he weaved  
between groups of men on his way to the bar. He would dance later, whether  
or not someone asked him. He liked to dance. But first he needed a  
drink. Sliding onto a barstool he ordered a double Jack, neat, from  
the leather-vested muscle man behind the bar and then cast his eyes quickly  
around the room. He knew some of the faces. He knew some by name.   
One or two of them he knew even better. Not that he came here often.  
But often enough, lately, at least.  
  
Picking up his drink, Kowalski slipped off the barstool and wandered  
around the room looking for a suitable position. He scanned the place  
slowly, from the men huddled in twos and threes in the darkest corners  
to the men swaying and gyrating under the bright lights on the dance  
floor. His gaze lingered for a few seconds over several of them, but  
none kept his interest for very long. He sipped his drink. He was in  
no hurry. Finally, he took up residence leaning against a pole, positioned  
so he could see the dance floor, the bar and the entrance in one small  
turn of his head. He smiled into his bourbon and waited.  
  
  
  
Ray Vecchio collected his single malt whiskey on the rocks from the leather  
queen behind the bar and headed towards a booth just vacated by two men  
who were clearly leaving to pursue pleasure elsewhere. Once seated,  
he ran a quick eye over the men in the room. On the dance floor several  
couples swayed against each other, imitating the act they would later  
perform in private. At the bar, small groups of men chatted and smiled  
at each other and in the shadows other men got to know each other better.  
At first glance, there appeared to be no one to catch his interest.   
But he was in no hurry.  
  
Ray lifted his glass to take a sip as he looked around the room again,  
this time far more slowly. He stopped, glass in mid air, when he saw  
the man he wanted, wondering why he hadn't noticed him first time around.  
Tall, slender, blonde tousled hair and an arrogant 'come fuck me' stance  
that set his heart pounding. The tight white t-shirt and worn jeans  
that clung to strong legs like a second skin sent a bolt of lust to Ray's  
groin. Yes, this was the one. He lowered his glass to the scarred surface  
of the table and waited. It didn't take long before the blonde turned  
his gaze in Ray's direction. It took even less time for him to push  
away from the pole and swagger across the room to where Ray sat.  
  
  
Kowalski felt eyes on him, but he wasn't concerned. That's why he had  
come to this place. It was always why he came. Slowly he turned and  
met the stare he knew would be there, ready for the offer he knew he  
would find. He wasn't prepared for the intensity he saw in this man's  
flashing eyes and for a moment he froze. Staring back, he inspected  
the face of the man who held his gaze. Slender, dressed tastefully in  
a black turtleneck sweater and pants. He had a nose that seemed a little  
too large and hair close-cropped to disguise the fact that it was thinning.  
Not classically handsome, but something about his moody eyes drew him  
in. He was crossing the room before he knew it.  
  
  
Ray Vecchio smiled as the attractive blonde man flowed onto the seat  
opposite him.  
  
"Top or bottom?" Kowalski asked, in a voice that matched his  
sultry looks.  
  
"Cut to the chase, huh?" Ray said, an amused smile touching  
his lips.  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't see any point in wasting time, you know."  
  
Ray leaned forward and sipped his scotch, still smiling at the fair-haired  
man opposite him. "Understood," he whispered, thinking suddenly  
of Benton Fraser. He shook the thought aside, the Mountie had no place  
in this - arrangement.  
  
He lowered his voice even further. "I'm looking for a good top."  
  
Kowalski leaned forward and spoke in a low, sexy voice, a dangerous smile  
curling his lips. "Well, it looks like tonight is your lucky night."  
  
As Ray stared into the dark eyes that reminded him so much of the ones  
that had driven him to this place, he knew he would give this man whatever  
he wanted.  
  
 _Comments welcome at_  



End file.
